Alternate Realities: A JaSam Collective
by Danigirl32
Summary: A series of short stories featuring Jason Morgan and Sam McCall
1. Good Morning Love

_**Good Morning Love**_

_"It's not that unusual. When everything is beautiful. It's just another ordinary miracle today."--Sarah Mclachlan_

The warm curves tucked neatly against him lured him from the shadows of his dreams to awarness with a lift of his lips just as always. Carefully he drew a deep breath into his lungs, bringing with it the soft feminine scent that roused his body to hunger without any effort. Jasmine, she said it was, the haunting smell which lingered on her skin making him nuzzle the spot right at the base of her neck.

He loved that smell.

The arm draped protectively around her waist squeezed briefly before he realized his hand was currently occupied with the lush weight of her breast. She shifted in her sleep, emitting a murmur of pleasure as her ass snuggled closer against his groin. To which his dick instantly responded, filling, lenghtening, already hungry for her. Always hungry for her. It was a wonder he accomplished anything during the day when all it took was a simple brush of her skin against his for arousal to leave him aching to take what was his.

_His._

He liked that. Perhaps it was possessive, but when all was said and done, that deeply embedded masculine trait burned inside him.

She was his. His woman. His lover. His best friend.

Those simple declarative statements encompassed more than mere words could ever express. Without her, his life meant nothing. He could live, breathe, work. That pale existence pulsed with vibrancy when she walked into his life. And in the chaos of his world she brought him immeasurable peace.

Slowly, he allowed his mouth to trail across her shoulder, felt her nipple pebble hard against his palm as he caressed her. He knew the instant she awakened, arched lovingly into his touch and a chuckle of laughter rumbled deep in her chest. "Now that's a wake up call."

Twisting amongst blankets and sheets, so that she could comfortably straddle him, she looked so beautiful, all that dark shaggy hair falling around her shoulders. Almost virginal in the wide necked gown she wore. After all they'd been through, she always greeted him each morning with a smile.

"Someone is very happy this morning."

"I'm always happy when I wake up next to you."

"Sweet talk," she wiggled her brows at him, "You must want something."

Perhaps in a moment or so. Perhaps he would slip that cotton from her skin so that his mouth could taste her. He would allow his hands to rediscover the joys of her beautiful body. They would join together, an age old dance of hunger and passion until they were both breathless and saited.

She would wrap around him, complete him, those lovely eyes holding his captive while he stroked deep within her, urged her toward a climax that would drag him to his own.

For now he was content to watch her and be grateful for the blessings he'd been given in this life.

"There's something for you in the table drawer." She never expected anything from him, that's just the way she was. Simple things gave her pleasure. A dinner shared over candlelight. A dance in the rain. It made him want to give her the world, only sometimes he just didn't know how to tell her that.

Perhaps today he had found a way.

"You didn't have to get me anything." The automatic response brought a smile to his lips, rare, in it's freedom. Here with her, he didn't have to shield his emotions. Here with her, he was simply a man in love.

"I think you'll like it."

Excited now, she stretched a bit, searching within the drawer only to pause and look down at him in shock. "Jason." That airy gasp was all the response he needed. She lowered back gently onto his lap, the small box clutched tightly in her grip and tears filling her eyes with love and wonder.

"You know, we've gone about this backwards. Our talks about a family and a future. They never start from this point, right here. With me, a man in love with a woman more precious to me than anything in this world. We never start with me asking for this commitment from you, this promise. I guess in my heart I've married you a thousand times and I'd marry you a thousand more."

"You didn't have to do this," she whispered, one lone tear spilling over onto her cheek.

"See that's where you're wrong," he sat up, taking her hands into his, so small but capable. "There are so many things that you mean to me. The woman I love. The person who knows me better than anyone, who accepts me for the man I am faults and all. My best friend. My home."

"That's because you're all of those things for me."

"Then marry me today."

"Today!" A wide grin spread across her face, laughter rich and joyous burst free. "We can't get married today!"

"Yes we can. A little trip upstate, a weekend with just the two of us. I don't need some grand ceremony to commit myself to you but if you want that, when we get back you can plan the biggest wedding that you've ever dreamed of."

"Jason I don't," but he placed a finger to her lips and shook his head.

"But you deserve it," he told her. "Right here, today, this is for you and me. Marry me." Carefully he slipped the box from her hands, opened it to reveal the ring he had given her so many months ago. The simple diamond seemed to be made for her hand. Only this time there were the two matching platinum bands inside, waiting for her answer.

"Yes," she nodded, "Yes, I'll marry you today."

Cupping her face, he allowed himself one taste, just one touch. There was plenty of time for more later once she became his wife. "Happy Valentine's Day Sam."

"I haven't picked up your gift yet," she smiled sadly, even as her eyes glowed with happiness.

He placed a loving hand on the life that grew between them and smiled as their child stirred, "You've given me the greatest gift in the world. Our very own miracle."


	2. On Call

**Rated: T**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like writing about them.**

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**On Call**

_"Paging Dr. Morgan, consult in pediactrics. Dr. Morgan to pediactrics."_

The man in question looked up from the chart he was signing with a blink of mild surprise. As the transplant service chief here at General Hospital, it wasn't unheard of that he was called in for a consultation in other departments but Peds was probably his least favorite. There was just something about kids and hospitals that made his heart ache.

A quick glance down at his diver's watch showed he had three hours until his next procedure. A surgery between a young mother and her son, where he would transplant a small portion of her liver to his diseased one in hopes of ensuring the twenty month old boy's would regenerate.

It was the type of surgeries he was known for. Acclaimed for. Had been written up in journals for. Gave speeches on. Whereas almost twenty years ago, a living donor transplantation was ground breaking, today it was almost a part of general rotation. In fact, he had already been questioned about doing the procedure when there were probably more interesting operations he could be performing. He gave the clueless first year resident who was determined to impress him the same response he gave all idiots.

_All of them are important._

"Epiphany, make sure Ms. Webber is prepped and in OR five on time. And tell Dr. Drake if he tries to steal my OR this time I won't settle for kicking his ass on the basketball court."

The nurse looked down at him with a familiar blend of fond indulgence and amusment. It was common knowledge that the two best friends were known for stealing each other's operating rooms if the opportunity arose. Their reputations at GH were legendary. Both were extremely talented surgeons with egos the size of a small third world country, but always dedicated to providing the best care to their patients.

They treated their teams with the utmost respect and the nursing staff with their due fear, knowing that while they might be the famed doctors the hospital couldn't survive without the nursing staff.

"Of course. Dr. Morgan, your mother asked if she might have some of the first years observe?"

They both shared a look of annoyance but he knew that Monica wouldn't have asked without good reason. After taking the postion of Chief of Staff when his father Alan died two years ago, Monica had made it a point to keep an eye on the residents. She was dedicated to General Hospital and determined that it would provide the best care possible for all of it's patients.

"As long as they stay in the observatory," he muttered, handing her the chart, "If they scrub in, I'm leaving you in charge of all of their questions."

Epiphany was the lead surgical nurse on his team for more than six years now. She was so good, that he no longer had to ask for instruments. No sooner had a throught flickered through his head than she was slapping the steel into his palm. He had no doubt that if there was an emergency, Epiphany could finish any number of procedures he'd performed during their tenure together.

"Oh joy," she smiled dryly. "Just what I've always wanted, newbies pulling at my skirt tails."

"Well, you are the mother hen," he gave her a small grin. "If you see Drake before I do, tell him I have to cancel lunch with him and Robin. I have a consult down in Peds." Besides, they wanted him to meet some new girl Robin met last night at Jake's over a game of pool. The consult saved him the change from his comfortable green scrubs and white sneakers into the stiff suit Robin had insisted on. Last thing he wanted was a blind date. Just because the newlyweds were deliriously happy didn't mean he was ready to fall victim to matchmaking spouses.

He loved Robin to death, but the last woman she fixed him up with, the infamous model Brenda Barrett, had driven him insane in the short fifteen minutes he suffered through dinner before being paged by the hospital.

"Anything else you need from me, oh wise and benevolent one?"

"You find me an efficent secretary who doesn't misfile my records, forget to give me my messages and doesn't sneak into my office and strip down to the buff scaring me half to death, and I'd give you my first born." They both knew with his schedule, a good assistant was just as important as a good nurse.

"Ms. Jones didn't work out, hun?"

"Let's just say if Maxie Jones paid half the attention to her work as she did to cooking up inane schemes, she'd be a godsend."

"How about Georgie Jones? I hear she's a bit calmer than her older sister. She worked as a striper for a while until she graduated from PCU. Efficent, intelligent and I can guarnetee she won't try to molest you in your office."

"She's engaged to Dillon right?" His cousin had cornered him during brunch one afternoon at the mansion to give him the pink invitation. Promptly causing a fight between the young indy film director and Tracy, Dillon's mother.

"That's right. She was in human resources the other day putting her resume on file just incase something opened up."

"I'll take her," he jumped on it, "Thanks Epiphany. I guess I owe you a bundle of joy, hun?"

"At the rate you're going, I'll be too old to enjoy one."

"Not you too," he groaned, scrubbing a hand through his shaggy hair, feeling a thick band of it fall back over onto his forehead. He was long over due for a cut, had actually planned one for yesterday but an emergency trauma came in at the end of his ER rotation. "Just because I'm not a reformed skirt chaser like some surgeons I could mention, doesn't mean I don't date.

"Leave off the rest and you have it perfect," Epiphany rolled her eyes, "When was the last time you took a woman out for nice time?"

Much too long, he mentally responded. Epiphany was right, but he had learned his lesson the hard way. Relationships were out. Dating took way too much effort. And it was generally a good idea to steer clear of women who wanted more than dinner, a nice bottle of wine and a quick tumble.

That way no one was disappointed when his pager went off in the middle of a dinner party. Or he had to reschedule a vacation due to an emergency surgery. Or when he walked in the door sometime after midnight and found the woman he was involved with bouncing between the sheets with his former good friend Sonny Corinthos. That little relevation had put him off blondes probably for the rest of his life.

"I have a great time with you, Epiphany," he teased as she released a loud burst of laughter. "I mean, how can I go wrong there?"

"Alright, I get it, I get it," she relented, "No interfering. Stanley says the same thing when I try to fix him up with Dr. Winters."

"Psych department Dr. Winters?" he lifted a querrying brow, remembering the lovely face and nice curves. "I thought you said Stan was a genius?" Before Epiphany could transfer her matchmaking efforts, Jason turned toward the elevators. "See you in a few," he nodded, stepping in side when the doors slid open.

After checking in at the nurses station and being sent down the hall to consult room D, he stopped at the open doorway and released a heavy breath of annoyance as he realized who had paged him.

The ice bitch.

Granted she was magnificent, no other words could describe that beauty. Eyes the color of a perfectly blended single malt showed intelligence but a remote insolence that was immediately off putting. She had a mouth made for sin, if it wasn't always pinched tight as if she were sucking on something foul. A face of well modeled femininity. Hair a shiny mahogany but was always scrapped back in a bun.

Then there was those clothes. Severe tailored suits did nothing to conceal the mouthwatering, melting curves of her body. Stilettos that made her legs look long and regal despite her petite stature. Today she was drapped in a deep moss green, a classic single breasted jacket nipping in that tiny waist and a perfectly suitable skirt that skimmed just at the knees. Even the white blouse she wore beneath was a bit of no frills no nonsense.

None of that meant he hadn't had a few improper thoughts about her.

"Dr. Morgan, well you certainly took your time."

And a voice that sounded like straight sex. That husky alto was made for moaning. Except for moments like this when it dropped the temperature of a room ten full degrees.

"And how are you doing today, Ms. McCall?" Rather than respond to the rebuke, he went for sociable. Samantha McCall was not going to get on his bad side. Hopefully, this would be over fairly quickly. Perhaps he could make his lunch with Patrick and Robin after all. Dr. Kelly Lee was begining to sound much more intersting than suffering through this.

"I'm quite fine, thank you," she responded, sitting down at the conference room table in front of the folders she had spread open. Holding back a flicker of annoyance, he closed the door behind him, locking it for privacy and crossed the room.

Ms. McCall was a number cruncher. Now he had nothing against number crunchers, they after all kept General Hospital stable financially but Ms. McCall seemed to take particular interest in nitpicking at all of his cases.

"I need to speak with you concerning Ms. Webber's procedure later on today," she picked up her gold pin and began scribbling on some ledger so he resolved himself to the agony and sat down in the chair opposite her and reclined back folding his hands over his chest. "There have been some problems with her insurance coverage, that need to be addressed."

"How much?"

Those liquid brown eyes flashed straight to his with a mixture of annoyance and awareness. It was a startling combination. "Excuse me?"

"I'm guessing you called me down here because of some money concern. How much is the insurance company willing to pay and what will be the remaining bill." He had spoken at length with Elizabeth Webber and she had warned him that the insurance she had from working as waitress at Kelly's Diner wouldn't be enough to pay for the expensive procedure for her son Cameron.

He would never forget the look on that brave little boy's face who lay in his hospital bed not truly understanding why he was in pain and held on to his mother's hand and reassurance that everything would be okay. That Dr. Morgan would help make the pain go away.

He just couldn't believe that Ms. McCall was going to make an issue of this the afternoon of the surgery.

"Yes, well, it is my responsiblity," she began but he cut her off again.

"How much?"

Jason watched as her tongue trailed across her lips quickly, disconcertedly, as her fingers manipulated the elegant pin, before she looked at him again. What was that in her eyes? Could it actually be compassion for the little boy would was threatening to go into renal failure unless he recived this transplant?

"Too much."

Furious, he shoved to his feet, "I can't believe this crap!"

"Dr. Morgan, please," she started.

"This hospital has spent years dedicated to healing, of providing care to everyone of Port Charles."

"Dr. Morgan, if you would just allow me,"

"And somehow we've managed it without some damned pencil pushers picking and chosing which patients deserve care whether or not they can afford it!"

Insult lifted one of those perfectly arched brows, "Oh really."

"That's right," he stalked forward and grabbed the pin out of her hand and snatched a blank sheet of paper from her portfolio. He ignored the interested expression on her face and scribbled down his personal account number for his banking instituion.

"I guess you have me all figured out hun? The evil accountant who is out to deprive a young boy out of critical medical care?"

"Isn't that what you just said," he stood and folded his arms over his chest, to glare down at her.

"Actually," she carefully pushed back from her chair and planted her fists on the table, "All I said was that the insurance company wouldn't provide proper coverage. You're the one who leapt to conclusions about what I was going to say next."

Then she looked down at the sheet of paper, lifting it to glare from it to his face, "Is this what I think it is?"

"What do you think?"

A flare of rage lit those eyes just as she balled up the paper and threw it in his face, "You insulting, asshole! Did you honestly think I wouldn't have found a way for that surgery to be covered?" She followed up the paper with hard shove in the chest with her fist. "Do you think you're the only one who cares about the patients here in this hospital?"

"Then what was all of this about! It's not like I don't have reason to question your motives. Remember the Spencer surgery three weeks ago?"

"Lucky Spencer had no source of income and no insurance. A liver transplant to a recovering alcholic and drug addict that would have left him debiliated for weeks isn't exactly good business practice for the hospital. How was he going to cover it?"

Okay, he had been less than sympathetic to the twenty-nine year old young man who had destroyed his body and promising police career due to substance and alcohol abuse. But that idiot was just one of many instances she had tried to interfere in one of his patients treatment. Why shouldn't he suspect her motives?

"So if you've found a way to cover the Webber transplant, what is with the big consult?"

Jason watched her cringe, nibble on her lower lip nervously and frowned with confusion. Now wasn't this first. The normally unflappable Samantha McCall was actually flumoxed. "I was," she inhaled deeply and let it out as if bracing herself. Whatever decision she reached, he sure as hell wasn't expecting her next words.

"I needed an excuse."

"An excuse?" He echoed and was begining to get suspicious.

"To see you, alright!" The words came out fast and practically in a shout, "I needed an excuse to see you. I wanted to ask you out on a date. There, are you satisfied!"

Cerulean eyes blinked once, twice, before widening in disbelief, "A date?"

"Yes," she muttered, then began gathering her papers and shoving them into their folders. "I misused my authority, I overstepped and used hospital time for my own personal use. There. I said it."

"I," don't know what to say didn't sound good and judging from the glare she sent his way he was probably right.

"It was stupid anyway," she muttered, "So just forget about. Forget this ever happened." Finished, she grabbed her leather briefcase and was two seconds from storming from the room.

"Wait," he held out a hand, grabbing her arm. She tugged once in protest, then seemed to relax as if waiting for a harsh word. "You want to ask me on a date?"

"Is that so strange? You're an attractive man, I am an interested woman, that is the nature of things. Dating."

"I thought you didn't like me?"

It was her turn to blink this time. Whatever she saw in his face made the most sensual smile he'd ever seen curve her lips. It shot heat to his groin, blood from his head and gave him all kinds of dirty thoughts. If he could make her smile like that, he wanted a hell of a lot more than a date.

"What on earth gave you that idea?"


	3. Walk The Line

**Rated: T**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like to write about them**

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**Walk The Line**

He was running out of time.

The rain was pouring down on his face, blurring his vision, ruining his shot. He had lay here in the mud and wet for more than eight hours. Waiting. It was his job, what he was good at. Somehow when he was born, patience had been poured into his bones taken up shop and made a nice cold home. He didn't wonder what people saw when they looked at him anymore. He had long since become the job. Ice lived in his eyes, death was carved into his granite features.

Today was no different.

Hair that was normally a tawny brown was now soot black, matching the paint on his face so that he was carefully camouflaged to blend into the night. Water had soaked through his black henley and pants, through his boots into his socks and he knew from experience that his body temperature had already dropped more than six degrees.

Not much longer.

Soon he would have no choice but to pull out. The sun was a glint on the horizon and the gradually lightening sky would give away his position. His hands would start to shake, his mind would loose that needle point focus. So he had to choose the moment and make it work. No excuses.

This job was virtually impossible. Take out the visiting dignitary who was playing both sides of the coin. The man couldn't be allowed to work the government over and then offer sanctuary to the arms dealers who slaughtered the very people you enlisted for help. The man was surrounded by guards most days. Stupidity wasn't in Sonny Corinthos' vocabulary. Corinthos knew once word of his duplicity leaked that it was only a matter of time until someone came in to remove him from the equation.

So he had been pulled off his ranch in Wyoming for the job, because when it was important, the best was always sent in. His superior kill rate surpassed any military sharp shooter on or off record. When he made the decision to become a SEAL, all he wanted was to serve his country. To do something with his life that was more than what he was leaving behind.

The gangs. The drug deals gone wrong. The poverty. But most of all, the utter despair that his life would amount to nothing. That one day he would walk out of the hovel that he dwelled with that woman who gave birth to him and someone would have tired of looking at his ugly mug and put a bullet in his head.

Only Lorenzo Alcazar had changed that for him. He would never know what had convinced him to walk into the high school he spent most of his time avoiding that morning. Fate maybe, having decided that perhaps he could be of use after all. All he knew was that morning the United States Navy had sent reps to speak to the seniors and those piercing eyes had narrowed in on him and said, _"Don't you want more from life than what you can take from someone else? Wouldn't you like to feel good about yourself for a change?"_

They took the smart mouthed, know it all, wise cracking piece of shit from Port Charles, New York and turned him into a man. Basic training kicked his ass. He learned respect slow, through thousands of push-ups, miles of running with heavy gear packed down on his back and hours spent cleaning latrines with a toothbrush. Yet once that lesson was drilled into his head, it stuck.

If he thought Basic was bad, SEAL training was a walk through hell.

One thing the streets had taught him, tenacity. Or perhaps just plain bullheaded stubborness. There was nothing they could do to him that would make him quit and damned if they hadn't thrown everything in their power at him to see if would do just that.

The night after his graduation, imagine his suprise when Alcazar walked into the bar where he was nursing a bottle of water to celebrate. Alone. It was why he was touched for special assignments. They needed a ghost, a man with no ties, no past, nothing to leave behind. And they found that in him. They trained him, used him and he became the whisper that no one wanted to admit could be true.

_Serenity._

Hell of a name for man who killed people. Now all he needed to do was complete this kill and his zero fail rate would remain intact.

The limo pulled up to the huge mansion, the driver, a young man named Spinelli scurried out to open the door. Corinthos had been out at a party all evening and was finally returning. Now was the time. Providence had indeed smiled down on him once more. His finger caressed gently, almost lovingly across the trigger of the sniper rifle as he looked through the view for his shot.

His breathing calmed, could almost hear his heartrate slow to stillness, his entire body relaxed despite the chill in his blood, the ache of disuse of his muscles. He blinked once, clearing wetness and fatigue from his eyes and waited.

The first person out of the vehicle made his heart stop.

If there was ever a time for his life to change, this was not one of them.

He knew Cornithos was squiring around a mistress, all the intel had placed the wife, Caroline, back in Bogota with their two sons. Cornithos was a known adulterer, so it came as no suprise to see a brunette step from the limo at his side. Nothing could have prepared him for her face.

So damned beautiful.

How long had she been at his side tonight, his mind flashed with an absurd wave of jealousy. It was insane. She was merely a face and given Corinthos' repuation, that damned beacon of innocence surrounding her was an utter lie. Tiny curling tendrils escaped the heavy silken mass of dark hair that was pinned up to reveal the elegant length of her neck. Even that damned white gown, virtuous silk, flowing over her divine curves sent his mind straight to images of a Grecian goddess bestowing her favors.

He watched her place a slender hand into Corinthos' and offer a devastating smile and missed his first shot.

"Fuck," he muttered, "Get your head out of your ass."

The gawky driver had hurried up the stairs and opened the door. It was just too bad that Jason Morgan would never know her name. Ghosts didn't get to touch an Angel. Corinthos waved the woman to precede him and that's when he pulled the trigger.

_**XXXXXXX**_

The first bullet slammed into Sonny's forehead.

That was the only signal she had that her operation had gone deadly wrong. Blood splattered wildly across the front of her gown and she had the lasting image of Sonny's eyes widening with disbelief before the second shot ripped through his chest. The velocity of the bullet slowed considerably on it's route through Sonny's body, but the whistle and burn of it as it grazed her bare arm still made her gasp in pain.

"Spinelli, down!" CIA Special Agent Samantha McCall shouted even as a second bullet joined the first in Sonny's head splattering blood, gore and brain matter everywhere.

Reaching beneath the length of silk to the 9mm Sig strapped to her thigh, Sam watched Sonny's body fall in slow motion to the concrete stairs. It was still early, Sonny had told her in the car that most of guards were given the night off and she knew it was because he didn't want word reaching back to his wife Carly that he was bring another woman back here to their second estate here Columbia. No one was coming rushing forward to help. In his arrogance Sonny had offered himself up on a silver platter.

The cowardly bastard had called in a favor and asked for protection when he heard that someone had put a contract out on him. She had been sent in to keep an eye on Corinthos and make sure that nothing went wrong. Corinthos might be a double crossing asshole, but Uncle needed him to tag the arms dealers he was working for. Her job was to keep Corinthos alive and unaware that he was under suspicion.

Given the dead body currently spilling the rest of it's life's blood onto the ground, she could look forward to an ass chewing in the near future.

Brandy brown eyes surveyed her surroundings, taking in the silent night, and the absolute stillness in the air where only seconds before violence had erupted.

"Is it clear?" Came the trembling question from her new partner. Spinelli was of more use on that computer of his than in the field, but she had needed a driver planted within the Corinthos organization and trusted no one other than someone she personally handpicked.

Slowly she stood, lowering the gun to her side, "Yeah, it's clear," her voice holding more than disgust with herself.

"I swear I was keeping a look out," the nervous young man immediately apologized, scrubbing his messy dark hair from his face. "I didn't see anything."

"Neither did I," she admitted, more to make him feel better than anything else. She was the one who had been in service for ten years, she should have seen something.

"You're bleeding," he pulled the hankerchief from his front pocket and handed it her.

"It's fine," she muttered, but wrapped it around the seeping wound. "Damn it, what the fuck is going on?" Securing the swath of material in a knot, she leaned down and turned Sonny over to confirm death. "This was more than a pro."

"One of ours?"

"Possibly," she squatted down, noting the entrance wounds, "I could swear I only heard three shots."

"I heard four," Spinelli confirmed.

"Well, I've got five here," she snarled, tracing a line of blood through each one until she came upon an all too familiar calling card. "Goddammit, what the fuck is going on here!"

There was only one sniper who made a five shot kill in a Sigma pattern.

So what the hell was _Serenity _doing down here?


	4. Sex and Candy

_**Rated: M**_

**_Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like writing about them_**

_**Sex & Candy**_

"Girl, have I a story for you."

Investigative reporter, Samantha McCall, looked up at the postively gleeful sound of her bosses voice and stifled the groan that wanted to rumble free. It was the day of the year she hated most, she was due for a vacation after covering the General Hospital hostage crisis and the last thing she wanted Claudia Zacchara to be happy about was another story.

Not that she was complaining.

Claudia had stepped into unchartered territory when she took a chance on a nobody reporter from Bailey's Beach, South Carolina to fill the most coveted position at the PCBC news desk. Sam heard from Carly Spencer, an old girlfriend and roommate from college, that the station had been looking to replace one of their reporters who had gone on to Washington D.C. to cover the political scene.

Every time she saw Robin Scorpio's face on _**Nightline**_ she could only sneer with envy.

But she would bide her time, pay her dues and soon enough, she would be off to the big show. New York or maybe Los Angles, to cover the breaking news. Win a few awards and move on to her own nightime news show. _**20/20**_ couldn't hold the major market share forever.

Sam tapped the pen on the edge of her desk in annoyance, knowing Claudia wouldn't go away. The producer was even more stubborn than she. "Let me guess, Port Charles' newest wanna be _Soprano_ has started a war on the waterfront and you want me to cover it?"

Claudia blinked, her expression so suprised Sam wanted to snicker. It was rare that she caught the buxom brunette off guard. Score one for the team. "No," Claudia waved her off with a snort of laughter. "Even mobsters celebrate holidays."

Disgust had Sam rolling her eyes, "Valentine's Day isn't a holiday. It's a commerical mastermine developed to reduce women to simpering idiots, men to begging fools and fill the pockets of Hallmark and STD floral deliveries."

"What bug crawled up your ass?" Claudia perched on the edge of her desk, the neat black skirt she wore rising just a bit to show off legs many men at the station had been verbaly castrated for staring at. The soft rose blouse she wore looked like Italian silk and matched the striking Prada heels she wore.

"That's insulting you know," Sam pointed out, "If a woman doesn't like Valentine's Day a bug crawled up her ass or she's a man hater. Or an icicle in bed or-"

"Hey," Claudia held up well manicured hands in surrender, "I never said that. I bust balls with the best of them, so you'd never hear me making accusations like that. You just sounded particularly nasty that's all."

Did it have something to do with the last five years of spending the sickening holiday alone? Or possibly being jilted at the alter by playboy skirt chasing neurosurgeon Patrick Drake and finding him in the church parking lot in the backseat of his favorite Porsche with her ex-best friend Emily Quartermaine.

All on Valentine's Day of course.

"I'm sorry, you're right," she set the pen down before she snapped it in half with the force of her residual anger. "So what's the big scoop?"

"The hubby brought me a gift last night." Now that she was back on the subject that previously had her glowing, Claudia was all smiles. "Call it an early Valentine's present because he had to go down to Puerto Rico last night for business."

"So, I'm reporting on a jeweler or a shoe designer?" Because everyone knew Claudia Zacchara had a thing for diamonds and a shoe fetish that was never sated.

"A confectioner."

"A what?" her face screwed up in confusion.

"A candy man."

Sam propped her elbows on top of her desk and groaned, "Do I even want to know?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous," Claudia's bawdy laughter rang through her small office. Given that her door was open, it drew several glances in their direction. Claudia laughing could be very good or very very bad depending on the circumstances.

"But Sam, I have to tell you, it was the best damned thing I've ever tasted. Sonny knows I'm allergic to chocolate, so he brought home these strawberry lemon creme things-" Claudia closed her eyes as she leaned back with her hands clasped to her breasts. The moan she released was better suited to a bedroom than a newsroom.

"Did you just have an orgasm on my desk?"

Both women stared at each other for a second before bursting into laughter. "I am serious."

"So am I," Sam grimaced while chuckling, "Now I need some sanitizer."

"Bitch," Claudia grinned. "So when I woke up this morning after hours of sex with Sonny-"

"Yuck, waaaay too much information." Sam poked her in the side with a finger.

"I took a quick shower, and set down at my desk to find out where the tiny bits of orgasmic bliss came from. You know, a little surprise for when Sonny comes home. Imagine my surprise to find the most popular confectioner on the Eastern seaboard calls Port Charles his home."

"He?" Sam was genuinely surprised. She would have figured it for a woman.

"That's right. He. As in Jason Morgan of the appropriately named business, Sex and Candy."

"Yeah, only a man would name his business that shit."

"It certainly fits," Claudia nodded, "He caters to men, does massive mail orders but he does have a small shop here in the city tucked into a discrete nook of Port Charles waterfront."

Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, Claudia pulled out a folded picture of the man in question and set it on her desk. "I'd imagine a man who looks like that to be more at home with a gun in his hand than a cooking spoon."

Sam glanced down at the printout and had to agree. The man was pure masculinity, all broad shoulders, rugged planes and sensual mouth that promised pleasure. Or danger. "So what's his deal?"

"That my dear is your assignment," Claudia clapped her hands briefly. "No one has ever interviewed Jason Morgan. He's pulling in hundreds of thousands of dollars a year and there was barely a paragraph of information of the man to be found. And even then it was vital statics."

"So what's the secret?"

"Exactly," Claudia smirked, glad to see they were on the same level. "If there is a story there, I expect my favorite investigative reporter to ferret it out."

"I don't know," Sam sat back in her chair with a small frown, "I don't know if I feel right digging around in this guy's past just for a story. I mean, he isn't doing anything but selling candy why go through all of the trouble?"

"You can't tell me that you aren't the least bit interested to discover what makes a man like this," she emphasized with a rose nail to the picture, "Turn to making candy. I'd want to know more about him if only to find out how he makes it tastes so damned good."

True she was curious about both the man and his possible secrets. "Let me guess, you want it tonight for the eleven o'clock broadcast?"

"Reading my mind," Claudia stood and nodded with a smile, "That's what I like about you Sam." She head toward the door, confident that the job would get done. "Oh by the way," she paused on her way out, "I hear his chocolate makes women pant like a bitch in heat."

"Too bad you're allergic then," Sam licked out her tongue and grinned.

"But you're not."

_**XOXOXOXOXOXOXO**_

"Greetings, you have reached Sex and Candy, this is Damian Spinelli what can I do for you this afternoon?"

Sam had to shake her head at the extremely cheerful greeting. Jason Morgan certainly had the right person answering his phones. "My name is Sam McCall and-"

"Oh my," the man on the phone interrupted, "It's the goddess!"

"Say what?"

"Oh, excuse me. It's just it's not every day I get to speak to the splendiforous and talented Sam McCall, reporter from PCBC news, even if it is on the phone. It makes for a most magnificent day."

"Yes, well, thank you." She lifted a brow in confusion, "I think."

"You're most welcome but why would one such as yourself be calling today?"

"Yes, well, as you're aware, I'm a reporter with PCBC news and I was hoping to arrange an interview with Jason Morgan, preferably for this afternoon. I've heard great things about his confections."

There was a long pause of silence, "I don't know."

"It can only be good for business," Sam pushed, knowing she was losing this Spinelli guy. "He will be a part of the special Valentine's Day feature we're running tonight."

"Well, you see, Jason doesn't exactly like-"

"It wouldn't hurt for me to ask, would it?"

"Well you see Jason is working so he can't come to the phone. And when he's working, no one is to interrupt him unless it's life or death. I mean the last time I interrupted him, and I swear I figured the fire department coming to tell him that the building next door had a gas leak was pretty important, he threatened to fire me."

"Fire you?" The asshole. A gas leak was pretty damned important. How dare he take it out on this innocent kid?

"It's a good thing I'm his younger brother, well half brother really we have the same mother, or else, well, I'd be back at MIT in my lab. That's how angry he was. Wasn't my fault stupid Lucky Spencer ruined the creme fraiche," Damian muttered to a finish. "Two years and he still won't let me live that one down."

_"Kid what are you muttering about?"_

Sam's eyes widened at the husky voice in the background. Could this possibly be the man she sought. "Is that him, Mr. Spinelli? Now is a good time to ask, he's not busy at all."

"Um, yeah, right," the nervous voice in her ear rambled. "Well you see Jason, you remember I was telling you about the goddess who did the expose covering corruption in the DA and Mayor's office."

"Sam McCall." The voice clarified. "Beautiful face, hot body, smart. Yeah what about her?"

She didn't know if she should be insulted or complimented to be reduced to such simplistic terms. Rather than argue she listened for Spinelli to make her case.

"Well, she wants to do a report on you."

Another long pause, where she could have sworn the temperture dropped several degrees that she could feel even over the phone.

_"No."_

"But, Jason-"

_"No."_

"It could be good for the shop," Spinelli pleaded.

_"No. I don't want some reporter coming around sticking her nose into my business. No. And that's final Damian."_

"But-"

_"Do I have to remind you what happened the last time some asshole came snooping?"_

What happened? Her head screamed. There was another length of silence then Spinelli sighed heavily. "You're right, I forgot. I'm sorry Jason."

_"It's alright,"_ the heavy voice seemed tired suddenly but Sam could hear the affection in the man's voice. _"No interviews Damian. Anyone else calls for one, tell them to fuck off and hang up the phone. Hear?"_  
"Yeah, I hear."

And so did she, she snarled as her ear was greeted to dial tone. No one stopped Sam McCall from digging out a story. If the man wanted to dig in his heels, fine, she would show him stubborn. She felt guilty at first for searching into the man's life, but that was gone with his cold words. Nothing was going to stop her from pilfering all of Jason Morgan's secrets now.

Not even Jason Morgan.

_**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX**_

He should have known it wouldn't be the last he heard of Sam McCall.

That's probably the reason why he sent his brother home two hours early so that he could get ready for his date with Maxie Jones. Though Jason really didn't see the appeal of the bubble headed blonde. At least she treated Damian well and really seemed to like him. Better than the other bubble headed blonde ex-girfriend named Lulu.

Idiot Spencers.

So when the chimes over the door of his shop jingled, part of him was already prepared to go to war with the sexy, determined reporter. It was too bad for her that he planned to win.

He didn't want or need noteriety. His convoluted past was his past and he had every right to protect his privacy from the vultures of the media. All he wanted to do was make candy, make a few people happier and live his life as simply and as quietly as possible.

Sam McCall was threatening all of that and he didn't take kindly to threats.

He leaned in the doorway to the kitchen, cleaning sticky honey from his fingers with a damp towel, staring at the woman intent on invading his privacy. Long chocolate hair, shot through with caramel streaks, hung in heavy loose curls down the back of a black leather jacket. He knew the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees after the sun went down, so that accounted for the blush of rose across high cheekbones. Lips firmed with determination were lush like a fresh berry, just asking for a man to dip down and sneak a taste.

Damn but she looked even better in person.

"To what do I owe this honor?" He tossed the towel onto the glass counter, watched her march forward, all brass and attitude and restrained a grin.

"Jason Morgan, otherwise known as Jason Morgan Quartermaine. Former golden boy heir to the Quartermaine fortune who disappeared from the medical community ten years ago." A smirk curved those full lips as she spoke of things he thought he had buried. "The scientific genius who was heralded as the second coming to cardiopulmary medicine. Graduated high school at the age of fifteen, college at eighteen to go onto medical school. Magic hands, they called you."

This time when he spoke his words a great deal colder. "What do you want?"

"I want to know what a brilliant surgeon is doing making candy."

"People in hell want ice water," he grunted, folding his hands across his chest. "That doesn't mean they'll ever get it."

"You can either co-operate with me, or I'll cover the story anyway without any input from you." She slid the leather jacket off and tossed it over the back of one of the small chairs used for customers who wished to sit and sample his wares. Then stubbornly folded her own arms over her chest.

Could a woman be more beautiful? She had come for battle or seduction, the black ankle length sweater dress fitting each and every luscious curve of her body flaring at the tail to reveal black leather stiletto boots. Despite his best intentions, she made his mouth dry and his body ache with hunger.

"I don't care what you say, Sam McCall. The only person it will hurt is you when I bring a law suit against the station for invasion of privacy."

The threat hung cold in the air, neither of them willing to give in. He had a lot more to loose here than she did. If she put him on the news, then the Quartermaines would come knocking and boy did he hate those people now. The only reason he relented and stayed in Port Charles was to be near his Grandmother Lila, after she died he had merely bided his time knowing eventually one of the family would discover his presence in the city and he would be forced to close up shop and move.

Maybe to Louisanna, he always had a taste for good Cajun food.

"I'm a reporter, I'm not afraid of a law suit."

The gleam in her eyes backed up those words. "Fine, Ms. McCall, spread my life across the news like yesterday's garbage. Unfortunately, you'll do it without my help."

Mocha eyes narrowed in contemplation, as she nibbled on the side of her lip. "Why won't you speak to me? You've obviously seen my work. I'm not into sensational tabloit journalism."

"I'm entitled to my secrets. How would you feel if I invaded your life and offered it up for public consumption?"

Sam seemed hard pressed to refute those words. Instead she pulled out a chair and sat down. "I told Claudia I didn't want this story. But nooo, she starts mumbling about strawberry thingys that Sonny bought her and-"

"Sonny?" He frowned, coming from around the counter so he could see her better. There weren't many men in the city of Port Charles that went by the name of Sonny. In fact, as far as he knew there was only one. "As in Claudia and Sonny Corinthos?"

"Zacchara-Corinthos but yes. Claudia is my boss. Why?"

"Well fuck me," he groaned, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down. "_You work too hard. You should go out and date, find a good woman and get laid_," he mumbled dryly.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"We've been set up. Dupped. Swindled." At her blank expression he tried to explain. "Let me guess. No boyfriend and haven't dated for awhile. You like to bury yourself in work and would rather spend time at your desk than making small talk with someone you know you'll never go out with again. The very idea of the Port Charles social scene makes you want to curl up in a ball and hide or run far far away."

With each word the glare on her face deepened, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey," he held up his hands, "I'm not knocking it. Replace boyfriend with girlfriend and I've just described myself perfectly."

"So let me get this straight. You think we've been set up to meet."

"I know my well intentioned but nosy best friend and his wife quite well. They know I'd never go on a blind date they set up but if they just happened to put us in the same place at the same time," he left off.

"Under the guise of a story," Sam murmured, "Come to think of it, Claudia has been hinting around lately about me dating again. Especially after coming to the Christmas party alone again."

"Well there you go." He gestured with a hand.

"And given your friendship with Sonny and your desire for privacy, Claudia probably wouldn't have run the story without your permission."

"Probably not," he had to shrug, feeling bad for her. Given the work he'd seen of hers, she was quite devoted and focused on her career, this had to sting a little. "Sorry."

"No," she stood, giving him another fine view of her curves, "I'm the one who is sorry. I can't believe she went through all of this to set me up on some stupid date."

"It's fine."

"As if I'm some sorry case in need of sympathy who can't get a man." Those warm eyes flared with indignation, "I can get a man!"

"I'm sure you can," he murmured, not even bothering to hide the way he took in her body. In fact, if he tilted his head just so-

"Pervert!"

"Hun? What?" Startled from his perusal. "What are you talking about? Did you just call me a pervert?"

"I just call 'em like I see 'em." Pursed lips were a very decadent temptation and he had a feeling she knew it. "Pervert."

"I'm not the one wearing that dress and those boots," he felt obligated to point out. "I'm a red blooded man, of course I looked. It wasn't perverted. It was," he paused with careful consideration, "It was appreciation."

"Appreciation?"

"Yes, appreciation for a beautiful woman. I imagine you know my little brother calls you the goddess."

"And what would you call me," she planted hands on her hips and wondered if perhaps his dear friend Sonny hadn't done him a favor after all.

He licked his lips allowing the rising arousal he'd been holding back to show through his gaze. "Magnificent."

Somehow despite her best intentions, Sam found herself in the inner sanctum of Jason Morgan. Otherwise known as the kitchens of Sex and Candy. She followed after the denim clad man, watching a really nice ass, to sit down at long table. It was a little warm in the kitchen, so she finally understood the black tee that stretched over his powerful chest and gave her a perfect view of a body better suited to a physical man than one who made sweets.

He obviously was working hard for tomorrows Valentine's rush, where men all over the city would rush in to cover their asses with late gifts. Women alone for this so called special day treated themselves to something sinful.

There was so much more to candy than she had realized and it seemed Jason had not only figured out the mystery but ventured out on a few discoveries of his own. The counters were filled with trays of confections. Tartlets and puffs. Chocolates and caramels. Truffles and little twists of decadent treats filled with various fruit fillings.

There were lollipops that inspired naughty thoughts.

Slivers of jellied candies she imagined could be nibbled off of various parts of the body.

And course the body paints in all different flavors.

Sex and Candy was aptly named.

"So why candy?"

"I couldn't say really. I guess I just fell into it. I worked in a bakery for a while to make a living."

"A man with as much money as you, worked in a bakery." Sam asked, disbelief clear in her voice.

"The Quartermaines have money, not me." He frowned walking over to the refridgerator to put away little apple tartins he had cooled off. "How did you find out about them anyway."

"The son of the first family of Port Charles? Whoever buried your past was good but not that good."

Broad shoulders she had been appreciating all evening shrugged, "I suppose. So in consideration of the time and effort you put into digging into my past, I'm willing to offer a small reward."

"I'm listening," she raised a perfectly arched brow.

"What's your favorite treat? And don't say chocolate. Chocolate is easy."

"Okay," she grinned, hoping to get a taste of the mouthwatering delights surrounding her. "How about tiramisu? I bet you don't have anything that tastes like that."

"But you would be wrong," a gorgeous grin spread across his lips. "You'd be surprised how many Italian women come here."

A quick trip to the refridgerator and he was back with a small saucer filled with three tiny tartlettes. A small shiver of anticipation slid down her spine as she watched him dip a large spoon into one of the double boilers on the stove then he drizzled chocolate over them.

Before she realized what he was doing, he had nipped her from her chair and carried her easily over to a clean counter to set her down. When he returned with the saucer, she pretty sure how this night was going to end.

"Bite," he held one up for her pleasure, eyes heavy lidded with sex.

For one brief second she was quite determined to say it was simply okay. No big deal. Then the taste simply exploded in her mouth. A deep gutteral moan rumbled low in her throat. The sweet nip of ginger in the crust, followed by the fluffy creamy taste of mascarpone and just a hint of expresso. Then it was all followed by chocolate.

She could honestly say Jason Morgan had curled her toes.

Warmth filled her body, pleasure of the most exquiste kind raced through her blood until she was brought to full arousal without one touch.

"Oh, God," she moaned, leaning forward for another taste, licking the chocolate from his fingers, sucking the taste away. "Oh God."

"Shit," he muttered, "Shit, Sam. Shit."

"How," she sighed when he curved his hand against her cheek, threading the other into his hair. "How did you?"

"Lot's of chemical equations, endorphins," Jason mumbled senselessly, "You sucked on my fucking fingers. Shit, I almost came in my pants."

When he bent his head and took her mouth, she felt her wet heat clench then pulse eagerly. His lips were so soft, moist satin. He explored her mouth in a slow sweet kiss so that by the time he pulled away she felt dazed and slightly dizzy.

"Sam," he whispered against her lips, his tongue tracing lightly asking for entrance to the depths of her mouth.

"Jason," she sighed as he tilted her head back and deepened what was probably the best kiss she'd ever experienced. The touch of his tongue was drugging, delving inside to tempt her tongue to meet his. Long slow licks alternated with a nip of teeth or a suck against her lower lip.

Her fingers found their way into his short tawny hair, to clench and pull him closer. The silky strands prickled her skin, combining with the sensual kiss to send searing need spiraling through her body.

As he pulled away the last time, she trembled, not wanting to let him go. "Jason please."

"You are going to be the death of me," he muttered, tracing his lips along the length of her jaw. "I swear if I didn't," he broke off, groaning in frustration. "I want you," he finally met her gaze. "I want you really bad. I want to be in you. Feel you surrounding my dick, coming for me."

"I'm not exactly arguing with you here," she reminded him.

"No, but I think I can wait just a while longer."

She frowned up at him, still breathless from the amazing kiss they shared. "I don't understand."

"Before I make love to you, I'd like to get to know you first Sam. You see I have my secrets and I'm sure you have yours and I don't want any secrets between us. None at all, do you understand?"

"You want more from me."

"More than sex and candy Sam. I want everything you have and I want to give you all of me. Is that too much to ask for when we've just met?"

"No," she smiled tenderly, touching a hand to his cheek. "That's the best Valentine's present I've recieved in a very long time."


	5. Drag and Drift

**Rated: M**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like writing about them**

* * *

**Drag & Drift**

Even with the chill of October wind from outside as he walked through the door the crowd was the same. There were men in the usual Hilfiger or Roca Wear, ice on their wrists and in their ears. The flashier were the young bloods who were still trying to make a name for themselves. The deals were quiet, eyes hooded and watchful, with a carefully selected crew quietly strapped.

Women looked like flashy peacocks. Apple bottoms, Baby Phat, lots of skin, hair and T and A. There were a few who were serious about the game. Those he respected.

Someone had Biggie's _Fuckin' You Tonight_ blasting through the bright parking garage echoing the sentiments already heating his blood. Cerulean eyes survyed the area taking in the vivid colors and personality. Several gazes swung in his direction, something he was accustomed to and had come to expect as his due. He nodded to a few, ignored the others, and made his way to the section that was usually reserved for him.

A sleek black Maserati GranTurismo looked deceptively demure considering the flash, bling, and nitro on display throughout the garage. No one underestimated the speed and power at his command. At least no one did twice.

Five years Jason Morgan had been retired from the adrenline laced underground racing scene, prefering instead to put his money and influence behind select drivers and the carefully crafted cars that were his passion. ShadowWolf Racing was the best and everyone knew it. His circle included only a trusted few, a clique he knew were truly ride or die.

"Jason," the driver side door opened, revealing the dark haired man who was his right hand.

Johnny Zacchara's smirk attracted plenty of feminine notice. Jason could only shake his head in derision as Johnny ignored the plaintive sighs he drew. The brown lambskin jacket, heavy knit turtleneck sweater, pants and shitkickers were an echo of his same black attire. Neither wore any of the typical flashy adornments, merely the blue diamond and platinum signet on their right ring finger.

"You're late, we thought you would change your mind."

"No," he denied quietly, crossing the distance to grasp the hand offered and pull for the brief grip and embrace. "I went for a run that's all."

"She's here." Jason ignored the knowing look in his friends dark eyes and turned to scan the room for the face he was looking for. Found her, beauty and skill, making his dick hard and his body ache.

"What is she driving?"

"A Mazda." Johnny didn't bother hiding the humor in his voice.

"That piece of shit," he murmured, shaking his head with regret. He hated seeing talented wasted. "Send Claudia in the Corvette Z06. And I want seventy against her."

Johnny's eyes widened before a wicked grin spread across his face, "Sis is going to kick your ass all over the place. You're actually betting seventy against her?"

"She won't win," he answered, stepping around to the passenger side to open the door. The woman who had him practically salivating with anticpation would ride Claudia hard and run her down. If he closed his eyes he could see those sleek hands gripping the steering wheel with such skill, it made him just as hungry as the woman herself did. A glance down at his watch told him that it was almost time. He could feel the tension filling the air. As egos began posturing and money changed hands. "This isn't about Claudia."

"Yeah, yeah," Johnny muttered before closing his door. He needed to go see his sister and place the bet without her figuring it out. "Troublesome. I really wish you would have let Spinelli do this. For some reason sis won't kick his ass."

"No sense in kicking an omega," Jason allowed a small grin of his own at the thought of the shaggy haired, awkward computer geek who was irreplaceable. "No fun in that."

"Yeah but you're telling her she's taking a step down. I'm not touching that one."

"I think when she gets back to the penthouse, she'll understand." It wasn't difficult to misinterpret her clothes moved from his closet and into the apartment with her younger brother. "Besides, she knew our arrangement wasn't permanent. This one will be."

**xxOOxx**

Sam McCall ignored the looks of pity and hatred aimed in her direction. She knew she was still riding the bottom of the barrel in both vehicles and reputations but she wasn't going to let that hold her back. Male dominated underground racing might be, but she knew there were women who had gained respect. The same respect she was determined to have for herself.

The keys to the piece of shit Sonny had tossed her earlier that night bit into her palm as she tried to rein in her temper. She didn't deserve this, especially not when she was consistenly winning her races and pulling in money for his organization. She was getting tired of the bastard looking down his nose at her, especially when she had raced a circle around Lucky Spencer, his so called best driver.

Just because she refused to grace his bed, he would continue tugging on the choke chain around her throat. If she wanted to race, she accepted his terms, his cars and his rules. She didn't exactly have a choice if she wanted to pay off the hundred grand debt her cousin Nikolas ran up in his casino. Nikolas was more like her baby brother than cousin and Sonny was going to use that to his advantage as much as he could.

"Well, it's cute," came the commiserating voice of her best friend. Sam looked from the sympathetic eyes of Maxie Jones to the neon pink piece of crap Sonny was forcing her to drive tonight. It had the barest of customization, one tank of nitro and had the nerve to be decorated with Hello Kitty.

"It's fucking Boo-boo Kitty, Max," she growled, slipping on a pair of black leather fingerless gloves. "I might as well paste a sign on my back that says kick me when I'm down. Look at them," she waved to the various amused expressions. "They're laughing at me. Hell, I'd laugh at me."

"They're jealous," Maxie slipped an arm around her shoulder. Fur from the black fur jacket Maxie wore tickled her nose briefly. "It takes real talent to drive the Kitty car and win. You haven't lost a race yet, Sam. Fifteen straight wins since you started three months ago. None of them can say that."

Maxie was her biggest supporter. Not many took the blonde seriously and given her appearance it wasn't difficult to understand their reasoning. A head of fluffy blond curls, more gold chains, braceletes and diamonds than necessary, a leather and mink jacket with only a crimson bra beneath, Apple Bottom jeans rolled up to the calf to display a pair of dark red stilettos, Maxie epitomized everything she had come to hate. Yet Maxie was her best friend and had more than proved that looking underneath the underneath was the only way to see past the mask.

"I'm getting sick of this shit," Sam grunted, sitting on the hood of the tinker toy. The car technically wasn't so bad, she privately admitted. With enough effort even it's bad qualities could have been improved. Looking beyond the outrageous exterior, she tried to number it's good qualities.

The Miata was lightweight, which made for easy acceleration. Someone had gratefully replaced the front and back hoods and bumpers, unfortunately, that person didn't have taste and the car came off looking like a grinning beast. Too bad the brakes were total pieces of shit. She was going to be squealing like a pig in heat. Rationing the nitro was going to be a bitch but not too difficult. It was going to take every ounce of talent she had to pull off this race tonight.

"You need what? Forty grand to be out of Sonny's pocket?"

"Yeah," she sneered. "At the rate I'm going, I'll be in these penny ante races for the rest of my life before I pay that off. At least I don't have to pay for the car repairs, otherwise I'd be fucked."

"Not to be totally insensitive about your otherwise horrible predicament," Maxie's eyes lit with devilish glee, "But sexy motherfucker headed this way."

"What?" Sam glanced up to see none other than Johnny Zacchara, the head driver of ShadowWolf racing striding in their direction. Most of the conversations around them drifted to silence, all trying to discover why the infamous man was coming to see a nobody like her.

Maxie was practically salivating, as she gazed at Johnny, and while Sam could see the appeal because he was a walking advertisement for sex, the guy was much too young for her.

"Sam McCall right?" A brow lifted in inquiry and she nodded once in acknowledgement. "Johnny Zacchara, ShadowWolf racing," he held out a hand and she warily slipped her own inside for a brief shake. "It's nice to meet you, I've heard a lot of good things."

"Thank you," but she couldn't help the widening gaze from the surprising compliment. "Same here."

Sam didn't have to look over to Sonny's Aston Martin to know that he was taking in every second of this exchange. Sonny hated ShadowWolf racing and wasn't quiet about his feelings either. She heard rumors that Sonny was best friends with the head of the group but they had a falling out when Sonny slept with the other's girlfriend. The animosity between the Sonny Corinthos and Jason Morgan was legendary. Mostly on Sonny's side because none of his racers could beat anyone from ShadowWolf.

"So, what can I do for you?" Because while it was fascinating to know the elite racers had noticed her, she didn't want to get on Sonny's bad side for a simple compliment.

Johnny reached inside his jacket pocket, "You have a challenge from ShadowWolf. Midnight. Drag and drift. Claudia Zaccahara."

Sam felt like she had been punched in the stomach. It was a dream race. Claudia was one of very few women drivers men practically feared. It was a damned nightmare. Fucking Boo-boo Kitty car! Unfortunately turning down a challenge from ShadowWolf would be asking for Sonny to dump her from his organization.

"Okay," was the only thing she managed. The smirk on Johnny's face inspired a small burst of fury that quickly cooled when he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"Odds are five to one in Claudia's favor. There is seventy down from ShadowWolf that says you'll win. Don't let Jason down." When he stood again, his hand slid from his pocket to remove a small black business card with the image of a wolf howling at a full moon. He allowed her to see it, before palming it. "It was nice meeting you Sam McCall," he offered to shake again, discretely passing the card along.

She watched Johnny go, his broad back disappearing in the crowd, before risking a look at the card in her hand. Jason Morgan had bet seventy thousand dollars that she would beat one of his best drivers. She ran a finger across the alluring image and flipped it over. Tried to call to mind a picture of the elusive Jason Morgan, felt something shaky and weak in her stomach as sensual blue eyes filled her mind. Sam shook her head to clear it, blinking at the handwritten word of _Interested?_ before allowing her gaze to quickly scan the room.

It was a word that could mean all matter of things.

And she had to admit, yes, she was definitely interested.

**xxOOxx**

It was a little after three by the time she made it over to Harbor View Towers, took the short elevator ride to the penthouse apartments and rang the doorbell of none other than Jason Morgan. Her heart was pounding like a bass drum in her ears and chest, nerves skipping like lightening across the sky. Trying for the appearance of nonchalance, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of the cropped black leather jacket she wore, shaking her shaggy hair away from her face.

The unsettled feelings weren't only from the anticipation of meeting Jason. She had plenty of excitment left over from dusting Claudia Zacchara's ass a short while ago. The dark rage on Claudia's face promised retribution but Sam had been riding a wave of exhiliration and could care less. Especially with the fifty thousand dollars burning a hole in her pocket. Finally she was done with Sonny and the little nest egg would be for her own car. No more Kitty cars for Sam McCall.

Maxie thought she was insane to bet everything she had saved on the race against the elder Zacchara but Sam's gut told her to go for it. She had been looking for a way to prove that she had the skill to be taken seriously and this was her opportunity. And she would have been a fool to turn down five to one odds.

Besides, she had reasoned silently, it didn't hurt to know she had the encouragement of the best driver in the game.

Afterwards, Johnny had come over to congratulate her and extend the invitation for drinks. Still riding a high, she accepted. Now that she was here, knowing Jason was on the other side of the door, she wasn't quite sure what was coming.

"Deep in thought?"

Startling, she realized the tall man in question standing in the doorway must have been watching her for sometime. "Do you often stare at people?"

"No. Just you."

That sent a shiver of delight down her spine, as eyes a clear vibrant blue stared down at her. "It's unnerving," she tossed back, ignoring the warming sensation in her stomach as a smile worked it's way across his mouth.

"Sorry," except she could tell from his voice that he was anything but.

Any mental images of Jason Morgan she had were nothing when compared to the real thing. The man was hot sex on a platter. Clad in all black which merely accentuated his compelling gaze and firm handsome features that spoke of power and strength. The confident set of his shoulders flowed down a broad muscular chest, slim waist, to long legs providing a visual mating call. Something deep inside her awakened at it's lusty command.

"Welcome to my home," he stepped aside so that she could enter. "Please be comfortable."

The domicile was everything she expected, each sleek line a testament to the man who closed the door behind her. The furniture was in various hues of brown from the rich chocolate tinted leather sofa to the warm tawny Venician blinds pulled back to display the night skyline of Port Charles. Very masculine but also very warm and welcoming.

A fire was rumbling and a display of floating candles were lit on the low coffee table, giving the room an immediate intimacy. Jason took her jacket, hanging it in the closet by the door. The spiked stiletto boots she wore were soundless on thick carpet as she furthered her exploration. A slim hardback book was turned down on the arm of the couch, spiking her curiousity. Before he could stop her, she flipped it over to reveal it's contents. "Poetry?"

A small smile touched his lips, "Is that so strange?"

"Honestly," she nodded, "Yeah. I just wouldn't imagine Jason Morgan sitting around reading poetry."

"You would be right," he agreed, closing the distance between them. He moved like the predator his racing organzation was named for. Silent, feral yet fluid and strangely graceful but always aware of his surroundings. "I was thinking."

"About?"

"You. Racing. My life. I needed a little reality check." Then he pointed to some highlighted lines within the text. "I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself," his voice was low, simmering with barely checked sensuality. Yet beneath was an echo of sadness she didn't quite understand. "A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough, without having felt sorry for itself."

He slipped the book from her fingers and tossed it to the couch, "I watched you drive tonight and remembered what it was like behind the wheel. Longed for that feeling of control and the adrenaline rush. Watched it shimmer off of you like fire and it called to me."

When he thread his fingers through hers, she wanted to hold on and never let go. "I remembered the rush of arousal, how hard it made me. Hungry for some way to satisfy that burst of lust."

She had wondered if anyone else felt the same. Had often felt ashamed of the wet ache between her legs when she climbed from behind the wheel of a car. Engine still hot, the smell of burning tires and nitrous oxide in the air. The thrill of a win, at conquering steel and speed. The wave of desire that made her pussy clench unfulfilled.

"I can see it in your eyes," he murmured, drawing their hands toward his mouth. White teeth nipped gently at her wrist. "You understand."

"So," she swallowed thickly to clear her throat, appauled at the weak needy tone of her voice. She neither confirmed nor denied his words but there was something she wanted to know. "Why did you stop? Racing. You were the best, so why did you stop?"

"Accident. One night the man I called brother betrayed me and in my hurt and anger I climbed behind the wheel of a car. I can drive but my reflexes, the edge a driver needs, it's gone. It isn't the same. So I turned my attention elsewhere."

"Building a dynasty?"

"Making sure talent isn't ever wasted. Talent like yours."

Nerves and arousal warred for dominace in her whiskey toned gaze, so Jason released the fingers that trembled lightly in his grip. Allowed her the space to consider, accept, the hunger between them. He had long since known that she was meant to be his. That he was meant to belong to her. It cost him nothing to take a few steps back until she was just as confident.

Sam McCall was his equal. The other half of his soul. From the very instant his eyes took in the bountiful curves encased in black leather pants cupping her ass and offered it up for his pleasure and leather jacket that teased him with a view of her slim waist but a mere hint of the lush breasts beneath, he wanted her.

When he saw her pull a piece of shit car from a near fatal drift off of Dead Man's Curve and win the fifth of her fifteen races, he'd known she was the real deal.

"Would you like something to drink?" He finally remembered some of the manners his Grandmother had hammered into his skull. Lila Morgan might not have been rich or apart of high society but she had a grace and gentility everyone she met respected. After his parents death, Grandmother had raised him, managed to get him through high school despite his many arrests.

She loved him, accepted him for the troublemaker he would always be. And when he won his first real pot, a nice two hundred grand for two hundred seconds of screaming steel, he bought her the quaint house with a little rose garden in the backyard she always wanted.

"Sure," Sam tugged unconsciously at the hem of the violet cowlneck sweater that hugged her slim torso with a delicious glimspe of cleavage.

She continued her exploration of his home, while he poured two snifters of Courvoisier Napoleon and joined her in front of the fire. Her fingers were warm and gentle as they brushed his to take the glass. Both hands braced the snifter as she swirled the liquid around. He tapped his glass to hers, giving his own a turn before joining her in a drink.

"I'm not exactly sure what you want from me."

"Nothing more than you wish to give."

Teeth bit nervously at her lower lip, "Was tonight an invitation from you or ShadowWolf?"

"Both. You're free to refuse one or the other. Or both if you like."

"I'd be a fool to turn down ShadowWolf."

"And me?" a brow lifted questioningly, "Are you turning me down then?"

"If I say no to you, does that mean the offer to join ShadowWolf is revoked?"

Jason expected the question, didn't mind, it was only natural for her to wonder. Quickly draining his cognac he set his glass on the mantel, then slipped Sam's from her tense grasp to place beside his.

"Business is business. You would be an asset to ShadowWolf, there is no question about that. In a few months with the right car, you'd be better than Johnny," at her incredulous expression he could only smile, "I don't take those words lightly Sam. You're good. Damned good. I'd never place my personal feelings before ShadowWolf."

"And what would this mean," she gestured between them, "A relationship between us, what would it mean?"

"Whatever it could mean," he hedged, not wanting to scare her off. "I'm willing to take the ride. Are you?"

A devesting smile widened across her full lips, "Is that a challenge?"

"Somehow I'm sure you're up to it," and before she could protest, he slipped a hand to cup the back of her neck and claimed her mouth.

The soft mewl of pleasure that hummed from her throat shocked her into a response. Even as his lips moved hungrily over hers, she had known this moment would come. The little teasing word written on the back of the card had practically dared her to step into Jason's lair and she had come willingly with a hunger all her own. When her mouth opened against his, allowing his tongue to sweep inside and invite hers to dance, she had already surrendered.

Powerful arms slipped around her, tugging her roughly against his chest as he deepened the kiss into something wet and carnal. He tasted of the mellow cognac and a masculine heat that burned through her blood. His scent filled her lungs, something dark and sensuous, tormenting her.

A trembling hand managed to caress the nape of his neck, sliding into thick tawny hair that felt so soft against her fingertips. When her fingernails scraped against his scalp, he growled low in his throat and all she could think of was their bodies stripped of all barriers moving against each other.

Jason kissed his way from her lips, across her cheek, before biting her neck softly and soothing the sting with the lap of his tongue. "Let me make love to you, Sam," he murmured fanning warmth across her skin. "I want to feel your skin against mine. Feel you clench tight around me. Take you until we both scream with pleasure."

"Yes," she sighed breathlessly. "Yes, Jason."

Eager hands stripped away clothes, as she matched him with excited passion. She trailed hands over his skin, marveling at it's silk and the muscles taut and perfect. Her lips discovered a paw tattoo that lay over his heart before her teeth grazed his nipple. A sharp inhaled breath told her of his pleasure.

She paused at hard washboard abs, kissing her way to his back only to manage a soft chuckle of delight at the snarling black wolf spanning most of his back. "That's beautiful. Did it hurt?"

"No, I was drunk at the time," he smiled before drawing her back into his arms. He took her mouth again, devouring her, until her heart was racing and little pulses of arousal throbbed between her legs. By the time she had stripped him free of his clothes, his jutting cock told her just how much he wanted her.

After carefully lowering her to the floor before the fire, Jason tugged the sweater over her head, groaning when she shook her hair free as he imagined the way it would feel all over him. With each inch of skin he bared, his mouth paid hommage, his hands caressed.

Deft fingers freed her heavy breasts from the lacy black bra. "This is beautiful," he nuzzled lovingly between the valley of her breasts.

"I don't think I told you how beautiful you were." When Sam's heavy lidded gaze met his, he trailed a finger across her lower lip and smiled. "The first time I saw you. I wanted you. Wanted you trembling under me."

He fondled a perfect globe, delighting in her gasp of passion. His tongue traced a swollen nipple and she arched into each touch, finally grasping the back of his head when he gave her the touch she needed by closing his mouth on her and sucking gently.

His hands slid across her belly, that hot moist mouth exploring every inch of her skin before unbutttoning her pants and peeling the leather slowly off her legs. The smirk he gave her at the thin straps of thong she wore sent currents of desire straight to her core.

"I, ah, god," her voice broke off when his tongue dipped teasingly at her navel and she arched into his arms.

"Beautiful Sam," he whispered against along the length of her thigh as he removed the last flimsy barrier, baring her to his hungry gaze. "I wonder how many words I could find to describe how you taste."

"Delectable." His mouth explored her inner thighs, torturingly slow toward her heat.

"Luscious." Her clit tightened as his tongue lapped over her wet folds, eager for the moment when he would finally touch her.

"Exquiste," that thick muscle slid into her pussy, stroking, causing jolts of pleasure to shiver up her spine, drawing wanton moans and mewls of entreaty.

Her fingers shot through his hair, hips pumping to meet his tantalizing tongue, "Please, please, please," she chanted mindlessly, reaching for the ecstacy he held just out of her reach.

"Succulent," he murmured, finally closing his lips on her taut clit, sucking ruthlessly until she climaxed, the fiery peak shattering her with it's sweet agony, lights flickering behind her eyes.

With her heart still slamming against her ribs, he hungrily reclaimed her lips, filling her with the essence of her taste, hands gripping her hips so that he could grind his thick cock against her wet heat.

"Jason," she moaned against his mouth, meeting a caress of his tongue with her own. "Please, I need you in me."

His next thrust joined them filling the room with their twin groans of pleasure. This was everything she knew it would be, the silky warmth of his skin tinged lightly with sweat, the stretch and pull of muscle beneath her fingers as their bodies moved together, yielding to the searing need he had so skillfully built.

"Now I want to hear you scream for me," his voice was thick, a near growl and she knew he could feel the involuntary tremors of arousal swiftly building to crest.

Jason drove her to a rough hard climax with long demanding thrusts. He kept on at this driven pace with every intention of holding off his own orgasm until she shattered.

Carefully he rolled his hips, allowing himself to savor the contrast of his own aching cock and the wet heat of her creamy pussy. He leaned down to murmur in her ear, "You feel so fucking good," heard her whimper and her fingers grasp at his ass to pull him deeper, moaning when her inner muscles began milking him again, squeezing his dick like a velvet vice until it felt like he would lose control.

"That's a good girl," he changed the angle of her hips, tilting her forward so that he could reach a hand between them and tease her tight clit with each deep thrust. The sound of flesh meeting flesh, her scent drugging his senses forced pleasured sounds from deep in his chest. She rose to meet him in a moment of uncontrolled ecstasy, her breathless cry taking him by surprise.

The sheer beauty of the moment was his undoing. His orgasm flowed down his spine, tightened through his balls, pulling hard in his belly, "Shit!" his breath came in a long, surrendering groan.

"Jason," her release seemed to ripple under her skin, and she shuddered screaming his name, throbbing around him, pulsing, until his climax was ripped free and he came calling her name.

**xxOOxx**

The sun was cresting the horizon when she awakened in his arms. By the time Jason had scooped her into his arms to carry upstairs, she had been limp and saited. The crash from the adrenaline rush of the night was total. All she could manage was a grateful sigh when he carefully tended to her before tucking her into his huge bed.

"Sleep, Sam." he murmured in her ear before climbing into the bed to spoon behind her. And she was out like a light.

At some point, she must changed positions, her leg hooked possessively around him as she snuggled against his side. Now this she could get used to.

Tempted beyond reason, she traced a hand softly down his chest her eyes widening in surprise when she saw the glimpse of diamond and platinum on her finger. It was exactly like the ring she noticed on his hand the night before. Why was this so startling? Making love to Jason hadn't shaken her so utterly. Seeing this statement on her finger shook her to the core.

"Welcome to the pack." His husky voice whispered before she felt his lips press against her forehead.

And with those simple words, something deep in her heart shifted, eased and filled her with warmth.


	6. Lunar

_**Lunar**_

Midnight beckoned her forth.

Hours she paced the tiny cottage, feeling the seductive tendrils of heat begin to unfurl deep within her. The fireplace cold despite the near frigid temperature. So cold the panting breaths rasping from her rapidly rising and falling chest should have brought forth white clouds of condensation from her lips.

Instead, she had stripped free of the restrictive gown leaving it in a pool of silk at the foot of the deserted sleigh bed. Perspiration slicked bared sun kissed skin, dampening mocha tresses into thick heavy waves that hung to the midst of her back. Each step was maddening, muscle taut with anticipation, heartbeat throbbing loudly in her head as she tried to resist the call.

Sensitive breasts, swollen and heavy, ached with the desire to be touched. The chill painfully teasing nipples to marble hard peaks. Her skin so sensitive, the smallest drop of sweat slithering its way between the valley of the lush globes was torture. Hunger left her core pulsating, a hand would occasionally drift down a taut stomach to the swell of her hips only to tremor violently before shaky fingers could try to satiate the quivering need.

It was no use. She had learned years ago that only one thing would soothe the rising heat but unfortunately she was alone. So she had learned to dread the coming of the moon. Discipline. Restraint. Isolation. They were the only emotions she allowed herself making her cold and off putting to all but the closest of friends. In dreading, she had learned to endure those horrible days of irritation leading up to this heat. Each year growing worse in intensity as the loneliness in her heart deepened.

A careless remark had her fleeing her home to the wilds of the mountains. How could she have not realized how dangerous this month would be? Hadn't that dreadful consciousness began it's ever increasing current of arousal in her veins weeks earlier than normal? She found herself scrambling to the computer behind the research desk googgling furiously in hopes that her co-worker's words were wrong.

When disbelief finally gave way to desperation, she had fled the University library determined to put as much distance between herself and civilization as possible.

A sudden gust of desire shook her, so that she bit unknowingly into her lower lip. Blood, sweet and alluring filled her mouth and she closed her eyes moaning as a pink tongue lapped at it's essence. Then a gasp of dismay brought shaky fingers to her lips, frightened by the magnitude of the mounting flames growing within her.

A tear joined the damp on her face, sliding the length of her jaw.

Unfortunately she chose that moment to pass before the large bay window and it's majestic view of the snow capped mountains.

It was fate that slitted whiskey tinted eyes open to be caught in the haunting glow.

Destiny had brought forth the lunar eclispe and Samantha McCall finally surrendered to the call of the moon.

The first time the change was painful. A startling breaking of bones and readjustment of flesh and muscle so that it could take it's new form. The burning agony as the face contorted, lengthened into a muzzle. Teeth enlongated into deadly fangs. Fur growing to cover barely healed skin as form shifted from two legs into four.

With age, the pain lessened into a mere ache. With acceptance, came unbridled freedom.

For seventeen years, he had reveled in his heritage. Even from that first terrifying night as a gawky sixteen year old boy who screamed before the communal fire as the elders chanted in the old language in prayer that their heir would survive the first transition. Until tonight, the night of the Lunar Eclispe where he would be expected to choose amongst the women who had come into heat this destined night for his mate.

Firelight danced against bare skin but he alone even amonst his people. Genetics, hertiage and disicpline had sculpted rippling muscle into the lanky boy. Where as now he stood on the day of his birth, a powerful well-proportioned body with broad shoulders and chest which slimmed into rich defined muscle at his stomach and a tight ass. Thighs corded with thick muscle led down long sturdy legs that moved with lupine grace.

The smell of arousal, desire and appreciation around him had hardened his cock, filled his head with raw turbulent hunger. Cerulean eyes observed from beneath thick eyelashes that fanned against his high cheekbones, detached and cold even as his body strained for release. As the moon shifted into it's highest peak,the eclipse complete, the transformations began. Though his heart wasn't in it, his blood began to race. It was his nature. Anticipation raced with adrenaline and the need to hunt and his body responded by taking it's feral form.

When the females fled, enticing the males of his clan to the chase, he remained a while longer before the flames. A sleek white wolf ears tipped with black fur, sinewy muscle and power, and startling eyes filled with cunning. He didn't miss the gray glaring at him from the other side, even now with conquest so close, the same pathetic rivalry straining between them.

A lip raised in a snarl, revealing a long fang as the rumbling growl of warning filled the silent night air. The message was quite clear, stay away from mine and you'll live through the night. It was the command of an Alpha that demanded obedience. Gray eyes tried and failed to hold his stern gaze. Then a soft whine could be heard as the gray turned in defeat to race into the night.

A sniff to the air brought the scent of sweet, sparking something deep and instinctual. Unable to resist he called out a mournful howl into the night. He flinched when it was answered, surprised, before turning to race toward his destiny.

She was dark like smoke.

And not of his clan.

He had watched from a distance as she raced through the snow, swift paws barely making a sound. She stopped searching the night, the moon behind her, as if she was aware of his presence. Her scent had drawn him to the very edges of his peoples lands. Her heat. It was sweet and clean. Musky and alluring.

_Intoxicating._

Finally he revealed himself, padding forward quietly so as not to frighten her and they stood in silence but for the breathy sounds of exertion from their muzzles. When he had halved the distance between them, he sat on his hind legs. Waiting for her to accept him.

At first she looked like she wanted to flee, her form poised for just that but then seemed to change her mind. Taking tentative steps in his direction until finally she stood before him. She was much smaller than him but well formed. A soft shiny coat almost black, clear intelligent eyes, wiry muscle that would display speed and lightening fast reaction.

He lowered his head briefly, growling deep in his chest in appreciation before allowing a sharp bark. She whined in response, closing the distance between them but he found himself twisting to his left teeth bared to catch the large body that slammed into him and had them all sprawling across the snow.

Sam didn't know what convinced her to approach the unfamiliar white wolf. Perhaps it was the sheer shock of his presence and the instinctual knowledge that he was like her. For so long she had been alone, that finding another roused mixed feelings. Hesitant, yet unwilling to turn away, she had watched him. The heat sent forth an even more powerful wave than before. Telling her, here was a worthy mate. Her senses were spun by his scent, heady and masculine, and something deep inside her had awakened. This unknown wave of searing need had drawn her closer to him.

Then they both scented the intruder.

The grey was smaller than the white. Not as majestic. Yet she understood what was happening. The white was being challenged for the right to claim her and something burning and feminine had unfurled to see if he would prove deserving.

She watched them now, angry growls and barks, as teeth and claw tore into fur and flesh. They were blurs against the night, attacking viciously to stain the snow with red. After several minutes of confrontation, the grey was sent flying, while the white dipped low to the ground in with a furious snarl. Before the other could stand, the white was leaping the distance to tear into the other's neck causing the wounded to howl in pain.

The white held the struggling grey down by the neck in a show of strength until it finally whined pathetically and went limp. After a forceful shake, the white released the other, taking slow steps back making sure to keep himself between her and the gray on the ground. The wounded wolf rose shakily to it's feet then loped away favoring one of it's hind legs.

Alone in the clearing finally, Sam waited until the white turned to face her. His muzzle was stained with blood and there were several wounds on his legs but nothing that appeared to be serious. Careful, she moved forward, nuzzling his neck with a soft whine of approval before lapping at the crimson. Then she turned to leave, halting at his sharp questioning bark.

Yipping flirtatiously over her shoulder, she raced away in a burst of speed for him to follow.

The chase.

The delicious chase.

She took him through a thicket of trees, down a trail before stopping and yipping teasing at him again. When he would get just close enough to catch her, she would lope just out of his reach making use of large rocks or fallen trees to keep him at a distance.

By the time she reached the entrance of a cottage the thrill of arousal had him panting. She paused, looking at him silently before finally shifting.

The beautiful wolf transformed into a seductress that made his heart falter in his chest before racing again. He didn't need her beckoning finger to know he would follow. This woman was his mate, he would follow her to the ends of the earth.

Walking steps were accompanied by his own change until he padded barefoot in the snow, up the trio of stairs and into her domain. The cottage was filled with her heat and some floral scent he couldn't recognize. It was quaint but somehow just didn't fit her, which told him she wasn't from this area and was merely staying temporarily.

As he closed the door behind him, she was already standing before a fireplace adjusting logs to start a flame. Swift steps moved him forward to carefully take the log from her shaky hands and perform the chore for her. It was his duty to tend to her not the other way around.

Completed, with warmth gradually filling the small room, he rose standing just close enough to satisfy the howling need within him to be near her yet to give her the space so she wouldn't feel pressured. Hungry eyes, warm but confused traveled the length of his body. He couldn't help the flare of arrogance and vanity he felt. He was the Alpha of his clan. And his chosen mate was one of unrivaled beauty and grace and she found him worthy.

A trembling hand reached forward to touch his chest, fingers caressing tenderly against skin. He knew she would pull away, so he captured the slender appendage, holding it over his heart.

"I don't know," she whispered, finally giving him her voice. Husky, matching the warm whisky toned depths of her eyes.

"I'll take care of you," he assured her bringing her gaze back to his face. He didn't know how much experience with sex she had, though he knew when women of their race went into heat, it was unbearable if they decided to go through it alone.

"I'm afraid," but there in the depths of her eyes, he could tell she was more afraid of what she was feeling than of him.

"Were you hurt before," he needed to know, so that he wouldn't do anything to frighten her.

"Yes," she lowered her gaze in shame, "But it was a long time ago."

He had expected anger, but not this utter rage at having his fears confirmed. The growl of fury that rumbled gutteral and animalike in his chest couldn't have been held back. Her words merely proved how strong and brave his mate was. That she trusted him, a naked male stranger, to be this close to her despite her heat that had to be making her ache.

"You may trust me not to hurt you." He allowed his other hand to cup her cheek, thumb tracing slowly over high scultped cheekbones. "I would protect you with my life."

"I know." And she brougth those vulnerable eyes back to his.

"My name is Jason."

"I'm Sam."

"Sam," he echoed, the short moniker somehow fitting and yet, "Hello Samantha." He watched her eyes widen and knew he was correct. During the day, she would be his Sam. Partner and helpmate. At night when he was thrusting between her legs, he would murmur Samantha in her ear as she climaxed screaming around him. "May I tend to you Samantha? I can feel your hunger calling to me. Pulling at me."

She wanted to say yes, to give in and leap off the precipice she teetered so dangerously on. Yet, she knew Jason was asking more of her than simple sex. It was the Lunar Eclipse and many of her kind took mates on this night. Was he asking the same of her? A man she barely knew but instinctively trusted more than anyone else in her life.

Could she be his mate? Was she strong enough?

"You need me tonight," his voice rumbled through the dimness and her confusion, filled with hunger. "I need you forever."

And there was her confirmation. Her mouth went dry as his hand slid down to her neck, warm and long-fingered, before he lowered his head to take her mouth. The kiss was gentle but no less ravishing, flavored with his essence and need and tinged with desperation.

Her own hands found brawn and heated skin, to slide up his chest and curl around his neck. Tease at the short tawny hair at the nape, before melting into him, pressing her body against the delicious strength of his.

"Samantha," he finally broke the caress, his voice hoarse. "Will you be my mate?"

She gave him a small smile, knowing her words would change her life forever but also knowing that with him it would be the best decision she had ever made. "Yes."

His chuckle, somewhere between laughter and pure masculine pride made her stomach clench with warmth. "Thank you," he bent his head to brush his lips across hers again. Moved along the length of her jaw, the curve of her collar bone, tracing a line of soft kisses and nips with his sharp fangs along her skin. Her heat fired in her veins, pooled low in her belly drawing wetness to her pussy.

"I need," she gasped, closing her eyes as her fingers fisted into his shorn silky hair. "I need-"

"I know beautiful, I know and I'm here now. You'll never have to be alone again."

He probably meant she wouldn't have to suffer through the heat by herself anymore, she figured even as it grew in dreadful intensity, but he would never understand what his words meant to her. For she had been alone even amongst her friends for so very long.

Hands moved to her waist to tug her tighter against his erection making her quiver in response. He claimed her again, tongue slipping into the warm depths of her mouth in a sensuous stroke, enticing hers to respond. She whimpered against his lips as their tongues danced, imitating the motions their straining bodies would soon make.

Gentle hands caressed the length of her back, moving to cup around her breasts, heavy and full, aching for his touch. Thumbs grazed over taut peaks making her writhe with pleasure against him. She felt him move, drew them carefully to the couch behind him and then he sat down pulling her with him so that she straddled his waist.

She dragged her mouth from his, panting breathlessly, as his hands glided up her thighs to cup her ass. Her hips ground against his hardened cock, covering him with with the rich wetness of her arousal. Jason's eyes squeezed shut, the hands urging her on clenching tight briefly as she watched him struggle for control.

"You feel so," his head fell back against the plush pillows of the couch, moaning when she leaned forward to brush her lips along the length of his neck in the same teasing pleasure he had given her. "So, good."

A feral groan was her only warning as he tipped her back, his forehead grazing the tops of her breasts, as he nuzzled her, drawing in her scent. His breath was another lash of heat against her tortured flesh, pressing soft kisses to her breasts, lapping at the skin with his tongue and the occasional graze of teeth. Whispering soft words of appreciation and pleasure. When he finally took possession of one nipple, her breathy scream filled the air.

"So beautiful," he told her, his suckling mouth closing over the pebble hard bud again. Each pull, every lick of his tongue stroking over the tight point, rousing the burning ache to even deeper depths than she thought possible. Skin to skin, they were as one and the exquiste harmony building between them had her crying out in sweet agony.

She pumped her hips, trying to grind the orgasm into breaking free, hoping the passion rising in her would ease just a little. He pushed a hand between them, skillful fingers finding her clit, tight and pulsing with need making her moan shakily.

"So wet. Are you ready for me Samantha?" His breath warm at her ear, taunting her with it's soft growl.

"Yes," she panted, her hips moving to meet the delicious tease and pinch of his fingers stroking across her clit.

"I believe you are," he paused long enough to grasp her hips and lift, just long enough to aim his cock to her waiting depths. She felt the silken head brush swollen creamy lips and her fingers clenched at his shoulders as her head dropped back with a shuddering moan. "Not yet. You don't come without me fucking deep inside you."

"Oh God!" His words, the image of his thick cock thrusting into her was enough for her pussy to clench. "Hurry Jason, hurry."

He angled his hips and drove into her in one powerful thrust making them both groan with pleasure. "There," his hands gripped tighter on her ass, grinding her along his stiff length. "There's my beautiful mate."

When he pulled out, the retreat and return brought a delicious pleasure that made her whimper. At the sound he moaned, "Now ride me, Samantha. Take what you need."

Helpless but to follow, she follwed each of his thrusts. In and Out. Over and over. Deeper and determined on wringing savage pleasure from each and every stroke. Sam writhed, yielding finally to the searing heat which had been building for longer than she could remember and finally being sated by Jason. Only Jason.

At the sharp bite of fangs against her neck, she screamed, his next upward thrust shot her straight into a shattering climax. "Jason!"

Even as she was groaning with pleasure, her pussy clamping around him, milking him, she could feel her own fangs lengthening in her mouth. His tongue lapped at the broken skin, taking away the taste of her blood and healing to leave only the red bruising of his mating mark.

"Again," he growled, pumping deep into her, gripping her in shaky hands to enable the rocking of her hips. "Come again."

The look in his eyes was feral, his eyes glowing with hunger, as he saw her trembling along the edge of another orgasm, fangs peaking from beneath kiss swollen lips. "Claim me."

He cupped the back of her head, pulling her into the crook of his neck. His scent filled her. Blinded her and instinct took over. When teeth broke skin, Jason groaned, a hand fisting into her hair. At the taste of his life force, she convulsed, like the sharp crack of lightening against the night sky whipping through her like a storm as she pulsed around his cock.

Dimly she heard him bellow her name, felt him come, spilling his seed deep inside her. Their connection finally complete. She healed him as he had her, both of them trembling in each other's arms.

By morning they would sleep exhausted in bed so thoroughly entwined nothing but death would ever seperate them.


	7. Siorruidh

_**Sìorruidh**_

_**Mornië utúlië (Darkness has come)  
Believe and you will find your way  
Mornië alantië (Darkness has fallen)  
A promise lives within you now**__  
--May It Be, Enya_

_Scotland _

It was a mockery of everything she held dear.

As the daughter of a great Laird, Samantha McCall knew her responsiblity as a dutiful daughter was marriage for the sake of land and connection. She had been prepared for this truth upon turning thirteen and began her training to run her husband's manor. Her sister Robin loudly protested the unfairness of their lot but was fortunate to catch the eye of Baron Drake's heir, Patrick. There were not many love matches but Robin managed to find hers and though she was forced to leave their home in Highlands, she was content.

Many thought Robert too indulgent of his children and far too reliant upon his wife's opinion. Always stating as example her as yet unmarried state and she had reached her twentieth summer. Yet as lord and master of these lands none could argue that he wasn't a just and fair man. He cared for his people and was diligent in safeguarding their homes and well being. Allowing his daughter a choice in the man she married was an indulgence that could be overlooked if not understood.

As the eldest, had she been born male, she would have been her father's heir. Instead all she could do for her family was to make a proper marriage. It did not matter if she was far more learned in the management of their estates than her younger brother Nikolas.

Nor did it matter that Nikolas was far too spoiled and selfish to be heir. The blame for his irresponsible behavior could be placed at all of their feet. Nikolas was the youngest of the three and had been sickly as a child. After two daughters, Anna unexpected pregnancy and birth of the heir had been heraled by the entire clan. When he was born several weeks early and continued to suffer from various ailments throughout his younger years, they had pampered him.

Now they all were suffering the consequences.

All her preparations for the spring celebration were in ruins and the day could only worsen. Her gown had been carefully sewn for the occasion. It was fashioned of deep rose velvet and trimmed with silk ribbon. Georgianna, her maid, bound her thick dark hair in the top with gold threads to allow soft curls to cascade down her back to her waist. The smile she wore a mask instead of its usual gentleness. Perhaps to cover the dourness of the occasion. Perhaps to disguise the black fear she failed to hide.

Tables were covered with the meal the servants worked all morning to prepare. Men ate from trenches filled with pheasant, rabbit and chunks of yellow cheese. Leek pottage and pork sausage were passed around by maids along with fresh carved lamb which had roasted slowly over a pit. Coarse black bread accompanied by fresh churned butter, jam and honey, sweet blackberry tarts was readily replished as each large tray was emptied. A troubadour's harp plucked what should have been joyous songs of merriment as jugs of dark red wine and honey ale poured freely.

The cause of their fear sat at the head table, neither eating or partaking of refreshment. Instead he reclined in his seat watching them all with cold eyes that seemed able of seeing straight to the core of a man's soul. At his knee was a monstrous dog, though she could barely call the animal such, who observed them all with the same direct glare. A large black gloved hand sat atop the animal's head, occasionally rubbing behind an ear and it's only response was a switch of it's long tail.

His men were postioned carefully throughout the room, two of the burliest at the doors making sure no one could run. One other dark haired man, who barely looked old enough to shave let alone stand a warrior at his side, waited behind him. A smirk twisted the guard's mouth as if he were privy to knowledge no one else shared.

Jason Morgan.

A man spoken of in whispers and considered a legend. Many said he rode with King Richard during the Crusades and he was a Templar. Others claimed he acted as an assassin for the King for many years as debt for his father's transgressions before being allowed to return to the Highlands to his clan. It was said that the only time a person actually saw Jason Morgan was moments before their death. A rumor she thought was utter nonsense, for whom would spread the tale if he killed all who saw him.

Yet she could certainly understand the urge to speak of the man so. The dark knight was clad in severe black. Tunic, claymore belt and boots were all the the tint of a raven's wing. The only emblishment was the embroidered red rose near his shoulder that many claim was in tribute to the matriarch of the Morgan clan, his grandmother Lila.

Unfortunately, not even the oppressive shadows he chose to adorn himself in could darken the fiery storm simmering just beneath the surface. At the moment, that burn was cold, turning a desperately handsome face to stone which spoke of power and ageless strenth. Imagination queried the sensuous line of his mouth framed by a perfectly trimmed goatee, would his kiss be as seductive. A wan shaft of the setting sun struck his shorn hair and it gleamed like dark gold and she wondered if it would feel as silken to her touch.

She should not be thinking of the man who held their futures in his grasp thusly.

As her gaze traveled the chamber, she held back a fresh wave of tears at the looks of frustration and anxiety on her parents faces. Nikolas and his wife Layla sat at the end of the table, Layla with pure fear for she was always rather delicate and her brother with barely covered shock. None knew the reason for Morgan's presence, and given his status were reluctant to question him until he was prepared to speak.

She on the other hand tired of this and wanted answers. The soft rustle of her skirts on the floor rushes could barely be heard as she finally stood before their unwanted guest. His only reaction to her presence was a taunting lift of a brow, then a slow careful blink as if giving permission for her to speak.

"While we are most honored by your presence, Laird Morgan, I, as well as my parents I'm sure, are curious as to what has brought you here to Wyndemere Manor this afternoon." She sank into a very low and deliberate curtsy as if to excuse her forthright behavior. When she raised her head, she found him watching her, except where before those eyes were ice, they had softened in appreciation. For her statement, or her pretense, she could not say.

"I have come for recompense." His voice, low and smooth, sent shivers of awareness down her spine. "For an offense committed against my family, Lady McCall."

"Offense?" her voice rose, causing the pretense of conversation to die around her. All eyes turned in their direction, wanting to know exactly who had dared offend the Morgan and why. "My family has committed no such offense!" The very idea was appauling. The man was questioning the honor of her clan and though not heir she would not stand for it.

"Aye, but I dinnae have reason to lie," he murmured cautiously, the hand rubbing his dog moving to the hilt of his sword. "Ask your brother that which I speak of lass."

Furious, her head whipped toward her brother, noting the color had drained from his face leaving him pale and drawn. "Nae, Nikolas," she sighed softly, "What have you done now?"

By this time, her parents had risen from their seats and had enclosed her within their protective circle. "Laird Morgan, I'm sure whatever has been done-"

"Silence." The dark command expected immediate compliance and the strength behind the word assured it was given. "Had your son the," he paused, and raked a glance carefully over her making her want to cross her arms but manners forced them to remain at her side, "Depth of character of his sibling, I would not be here today. As it stands, I am here on behalf of my clan. My sister, Emily."

"I've done nothing," Nikolas yelled, leaping from his seat to stalk to them. "What ever she claims, she lies."

"She claims nothing, as she is dead," his voice hardened ruthlessly but she did not imagine the hint of despair she heard within it's depths. Whatever was said about this man, it was obvious to her that he had loved his sister.

"I am sorry for your loss, Laird Morgan," her condolences drew his pointed gaze back in her direction. "Yet, I don't understand what this has to do with my brother."

"My sister died in child birth."

Her parents groan was punctuated by the hand she used to cover her face in shame. This, this was even worse than she could have ever imagined. If Nikolas had lain with Emily and gotten her with child, they were doomed. Sleeping with a chamber maid while frowned upon had not the same consequences as sleeping with a Lady. Lord knew Nikolas seemed incapable of remaining faithful to his wife.

"The babe?" Her father asked.

"Is well," Jason answered spacing each word carefully. "He will remain on my lands."

"That is unacceptable," her father began ignoring the look on Nikolas' face. "He is a McCall, he belongs here."

"He is a Morgan, or have you forgotten that your son is already wed? I will not have my nephew raised here so that he may grow to be the same wastrel adulter with no concept of honor or responsiblity as the man who sired him."

"Then why have you come," Nikolas demanded, and while she wondered the same, she wasn't foolish enough to ask. She ached to smack some sense into her brother's head so that he might see the fine line he was walking. "I suppose you want money?"

"No money can replace what you have stolen from my family." Jason growled, rising from his seat as his dog mimicked his master in bristling response. The hand on the hilt of his claymore tightened, as if aching to be drawn and used. He pulled a long breath into his lungs, and she relaxed as the tension tight in his powerful form released the smallest bit. "But you will make restitution."

"You are right, of course," her mother stepped around, to place silencing hands on her brother's arm. "What are your terms, Laird?"

"Marriage."

Samantha became increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny, awkwardly, she cleared her throat, "We don't understand, Laird. You said before your sister passed on in child birth and Nikolas is already married."

When he looked at her again, the warning voice in her head was silenced as dread unfurled in her belly. Hope for from rescue from this man's wrath died a swift and merciless death. "My nephew needs a mother and as I am in need of a wife to help raise him, I believe his aunt would make a fitting solution."

"I don't understand," she breathed in shallow, quick gasps, because she feared she understood him perfectly.

"It is simple. You will marry me or I will cut your brother down where he stands."

_Fin_


End file.
